


Vodka Soda Summer

by maschh



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maschh/pseuds/maschh
Summary: Gareth and Theo have known each other since they were teenagers at Southampton. When Gareth joins Theo in the Premier League, they catch up and Theo helps/hinders Gareth's attempts to grapple with his sexuality.





	

When Gareth was sixteen, Theo was transferred to Arsenal. For millions of pounds, he was sent back to London – sent back _home_ , all those miles seem far when you’re not driving yet, when you don’t have a car. (Gareth’s home even further.) For millions of pounds, bought and sold – his closest friend.

And they didn’t keep in touch, boys that age don’t keep in touch. Eventually one of them added the other on Facebook, that new invention.

But Theo’s number is still on Gareth’s phone, never used. It’s still there when he gets called up to Wales for the first time, and it’s there when Theo inexplicably, hilariously, gets called up for England, in the World Cup squad at the ripe old age of seventeen, and if they were still talking they would laugh about it. Theo doesn’t see a minute on the field. And Gareth languishes in the Championship while Theo sits on the bench at Arsenal.

Then, suddenly, miraculously, all his has work paid off – Tottenham wants him, the Premier League wants him. London wants him. Maybe Theo wants him. And it’s immediate, it’s not even a decision – he packs his bags and instantly Southampton, for all it’s given him, his home since he was eleven, feels like a pit stop, a means to an end, and London where he belongs.

 

 

 

**2008.**

They’re not on the same pitch for over a year. And Gareth forgets, he mostly forgets, except he’s always watched Sky Sports religiously, even 0-0 draws he watches over and over again, and there Theo is, holding his own, fast as he ever was. Nervous, Gareth can tell. Bigger than he was at Southampton. Tattooed. He looks good. Gareth tries to forget.

And he’s not getting enough football, anyway, not starting. After playing every game in the Championship, twenty minutes here, half an hour there is not enough, not for Gareth. Gareth, who lives to embarrass full backs and run the poor grass ragged. Who prides himself on being faster than Theo (though Theo would disagree).

So they’re both on the pitch on an afternoon in October, and the derby ends 4-4. Arsenal falls apart, gives up a two goal lead. Gareth is cocky, proud of his new teammates, his new friends. He finds Theo after the match, and the only hint that they haven’t seen each other is how long they hug, how tight, how hard they slam their palms into each other’s shoulder blades.

Theo murmurs, “You all right?” as Gareth cries, “Good to see you, mate!” Their heads so close that they’re breathing each other’s air. And then it’s done. Gareth with a big grin on his face, Theo deep in his own thoughts, moving through high fives at a rapid pace, eager to get to the showers. Gareth watches him walk away and decides to send the text.

_Can we grab a drink to catch up? Good game today_

It took him four tries, but he’s happy with the text. He hits Send and goes off to shower. By the time he’s back, Theo has responded:

_Not drinking but we can meet up_

Gareth rolls his eyes. Theo just has to play it cool. Though he can’t shake the grin as he whistles through putting on his street clothes.

“What, have you got a date, Bale?” quips Aaron Lennon. He scored the equalizer, which means he’ll be insufferable for the next week or two.

“Oh yeah, hot date,” says Assou-Ekotto beside him. He plays the same position as Gareth. “Look at him.”

“No, you know what?” Lennon box steps at Gareth, exaggerates walking with his arms. “You look like you just got laid, bruv. You know we only played football, right?”

“Yeah, football,” says Assou-Ekotto, miming kicking a ball. “You know it.”

Gareth shakes his head, grinning. “Don’t look so jealous, Lennon,” he says, and then mimes putting Aaron’s little nick in his eyebrows with a razor, so Assou-Ekotto and the others crack up.

“Maaaan…” Lennon gripes, turning around, as Assou-Ekotto pretends Lennon’s face is a mirror and does the nick as well.

Gareth slides on his jacket and makes a quick exit, never comfortable away from home, even at the Emirates. Theo wants to meet at a pub nearby.

“Oi,” says a familiar voice, and Gareth feels his shoulders tense.

“Hey,” he says as he turns around, and there’s Theo, again, right there. Sheepish grin and all. He’s dressed down, dark jeans and a slightly oversized dark blue sweatshirt, diamond stud in his ear. Somehow looks every bit a Premier League footballer (on his day off). It would be intimidating if it wasn’t Theo.

“Found ya,” says Theo. “My car’s just round the back. Pub’s not too far.”

“’Kay,” Gareth says. He’s finding it hard to stop smiling as they fall into step. Theo’s grinning too, behind a couple of his fingers, eyes on the ground. They walk through the private exit towards Theo’s car.

“How’s it? At Tottenham?” asks Theo. “I heard when you got the transfer, congrats.” Even though it’s been over a year.

“Thanks,” says Gareth. “I like it.”

“Redknapp?”

Gareth shrugs. “You know, he’s all right… Bit red.”

“A bit,” laughs Theo.

“Wenger?”

“Yeah, he’s good. He’s smart, you know. Maybe too smart.”

“For his own good?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Theo says. He hits a button and unlocks his car. It smells like a mix of new car smell and Theo’s cologne. “You know what, though? I’ve not been here long and I know this is how we lose the title. Games like today.”

Gareth’s hushed. Sure, it’s been a few years for Arsenal, but when was the last time Tottenham won the league? “Don’t worry about it,” he hears himself say. And then: “I’s just happy to get some minutes today.”

“Yeah, you were good, man,” Theo says, and Gareth scoffs. “Still fuckin’ _fast_ ,” and that earns him a real laugh. “Phew. Make me look bad.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Seriously,” Theo says. “You guys earned it today.” Gareth smiles a little because he knows it costs Theo something to say that.

“Aaron fucking Lennon,” says Gareth.

Theo laughs. “Aaron Lennon what?”

Gareth shrugs. “Eh, he’s just a dick.”

“Is he? Seems all right.”

“You just like him cause he reminds you of you.”

Theo makes a noise like he’s trying to disagree but he can’t.

They both laugh. “Yep, that’s it,” Gareth gloats. They’re speeding down the London streets, Theo fast as a cabbie, hates to go slow. This is practically Gareth’s neighborhood, but the bright lights whizzing by make him feel like a kid again, visiting London for the first time. “You in a rush?”

“Yeah, the sooner we get to the pub, the sooner I get to take you home,” Theo says, putting on a camp voice for the last bit.

“Is that how it is?” Gareth says, without missing a beat. But his heart has soared into his stomach.

“That’s how it iiiis,” Theo says, and drives over a pothole.

“Nice one,” says Gareth.

Theo just grunts, and all of a sudden it feels like the game has reached its limit. The silence oppressive and heavy.

Theo clears his throat at the same second that Gareth says, “’s the name of the place?” and Theo has to ask him to repeat himself.

“Oh, it’s the Maidenhead,” Theo mumbles. “D’you know it?”

Gareth shakes his head. “No.”

“It’s all right,” says Theo, turning into the car park. “Not the fanciest, but I never get recognized.” Somehow, his words release butterflies in Gareth’s stomach. As they get out of the car, he imagines some seedy underworld, carnal delights behind every corner…

“…right with you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gareth says belatedly, giving himself away with his smile.

Inside, the lights are dim, the low ceilings and surprising depth to the place make it cavernous, but other than that, it seems like a standard pub. On the crowded side, but it is Saturday night. Theo has already sidled up to the bar, and he’s kissing the bartender on each cheek. As Gareth gets closer, he sees the bartender is taller than Theo – and male. Fit, if Gareth had to say. Not in a gay way, but the guy probably models on the side – objectively. Big biceps fill out his tank and a solid-looking stomach. Lots of freckles. Theo nudges him hard and he realizes he’s staring.

“Fernando. Friend of mine.”

Gareth is definitely blushing. “Gareth,” he says, reaching out a hand, and Fernando shakes it, before leaning in and kissing both cheeks too. He says something that sounds kind, Gareth can’t quite hear.

“He’s Spanish,” Theo says when Gareth is freed, and Gareth nods, as if that explains everything. When he’s never seen Theo let another man get that close to him. Not even Gareth. Well – not since.

“ _Sí, lo soy_ ,” Fernando croons, with a smug grin on his face. Knowing? “What can I get you boys?”

“Double gin and tonic for this one,” Theo says immediately, and shouts down Gareth’s protests. “For me a vodka soda.”

“ _Claro_ ,” flirts Fernando, and swans away.

Gareth raises his eyebrows at Theo like _ooookay_ , but Theo drops his gaze and Gareth tries another tack. “Thought you weren’t drinking."

Theo shrugs and turns back to the bar. Unnerved, Gareth scans the room. The clientele isn’t scrubby as Theo might’ve suggested, but most just look like students. Unconcerned about anyone outside of their immediate group as students are, though there are always a few people looking around. Gareth accidentally catches the eye of a broad, laddy-looking blond, and, feeling a jolt go through his body, orients himself back toward the bar.

“Vodka soda,” Fernando says in that strong, _strong_ accent. “Double gin. Tonic.”

“Thanks, Fer,” says Theo.

“Of course, baby,” says Fernando. Theo produces a couple of bills and the Spaniard cries, “Ah, no no no! _Por favor_ , no! On the house! For you and your friend… Gary?”

“Gareth,” mutters Gareth, but he’s drowned out by Theo trying to insist. In the end, Fernando insists harder, and Theo, with a very English _oh-well-he’s-foreign-let’s-get-out-of-here-before-he-realizes_ face, grabs their drinks and leads Gareth to a table for two right along the major throughway of the bar. Gareth hasn’t understood the goings-on of the past ten minutes basically at all, so he follows Theo obediently and sips his gin and tonic one, two, three, _fouuur._

“Good?” asks Theo, looking very pleased with himself.

Gareth nods, suddenly shy. “So this is your place, then, or?” Theo tilts his head like _maybe_. “Thought you weren’t drinking.”

“Not supposed to,” Theo shrugs. “But I need the edge off, you know?”

And Theo’s nudged his knee into Gareth’s twice since they sat down, so _yeah_ , Gareth knows. Sip, sip. Sip.

“Gin and tonic?” says Gareth, moving on to his second question.

“Thought it was your favorite drink. No?”

“Nope. Have I ever said that?”

“Thought you had,” Theo shrugs, and then laughs. “Years ago. But you seem to be enjoying it,” he quips, as Gareth unwraps his lips from the straw and chuckles.

“Yeah, fair point, mate, you got me a free drink. Now, what the _fuck_ is with that bartender?”

Theo looks genuinely confused. “What, Fernando?”

“ _Yeah_ , Fernando,” says Gareth, miming the double cheek kiss, feeling alcohol liquid courage already. “Is he gay or just European, d’you know what I mean?”

Theo looks down at his drink. He’s got really nice fingers. Sip. For the first time in a while, there’s no trace of a smile on his face. “Well, I dunno,” he says quietly. “He might be gay.”

“What?” This time Gareth definitely hasn’t heard right.

“He might be gay,” Theo says, almost aggressively, meeting Gareth’s eyes. “Or… I dunno, bi? Pan? Is that – is pan a thing now?”

Gareth shifts in his seat. “You guys are good friends, or…?”

“Not _good_ friends—”

“Give you a lot of free drinks, does he?”

“Gaz…”

“What?”

But Theo doesn’t respond, can’t respond. Just swirls his straw in his drink. Gareth can’t think, is so angry he can’t see straight, all he can fathom is just how _girly_ these drinks are that Theo ordered, this gin and tonic that is already in his legs, buzzing around the pit of his stomach. He hasn’t eaten since before the match, he makes a policy of never drinking Saturday matchdays, but… He bites his lip because everything he can think of to say is cruel.

Theo meets his eyes, and he looks like a lost puppy. Gareth can’t take it. He can’t look at him. He bolts from the stool and speeds toward the bathroom. There is a line but he brushes past everyone, finds the sink and runs his hands under the water, washes them three, four times. Runs them over his face, washes that too. Keeps them there and holds his palms over his eyes, rests his fingertips on his scalp and just breathes. He stands there until he can feel eyes boring into his back, and then he feels a body pressed against his, chest against his back, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t relax or tense, just stays as if Theo’s not there.

“Gaz,” Theo murmurs, and there are men coming and going, Britishly ignoring them. “Please.”

And Gareth takes his hands off his eyes and meets Theo’s, and despite the height difference, Gareth looks like Theo’s never seen him before – he looks so, so scared. Theo puts a hand on one shoulder and rests his cheek against the other. “It’s okay.”

Gareth can’t speak. The back of his throat aches and he can feel the wetness behind his eyes, on top of his tongue. “You – ” Gareth whispers. He cannot talk about himself. “You fucked him?”

After a beat, Theo nods. Gareth finally flinches, breaking eye contact and looking into the mirror. He’s not cried, but his face is blotchy. He looks ill. He stares at the sink. Both are frozen solid as people mill around them. Without looking at him, Gareth says, “You’re – ?”

Theo shrugs, Gareth can feel it. “I, uh – I don’t stress it.”

“So – girls, too?”

Theo shrugs again. “Yeah. Sure.”

“B-but – ” Gareth’s brain can’t keep up, nor his mouth – “But what about the press? You’re a footballer, a _Premier League_ footballer, how—”

Again, Theo shrugs. Gareth looks at him in the mirror, and he’s smiling again. “Just another thing to hide from the press, right? Who I’m fucking?”

Gareth almost laughs, but catches himself. He realizes his whole body is taut, Theo still draped against him. He tries to relax his shoulders, his back. It makes him ache to hear Theo say that word, so casually off his lips. _Fuck_.

“Gaz?” Theo is saying, in a cajoling tone that Gareth doesn’t want to think about too closely. “Can we go back to our table? Before someone steals my jacket?”

Gareth’s staring at the ground, but the corners of his mouth have turned up. “Yeah."

 

 

 

They change topic somehow (they have a lot to catch up on). Theo buys four more rounds of drinks in quick succession. Gareth won’t go up to order, but Theo is more than happy to flit around the bar, talking, flirting, how did Gareth not realize before because it’s in everything he does, the way he moves, the way he laughs, the way he holds eye contact with Gareth. The way he sucks down vodka soda after vodka soda, the way his lips are just wet enough, just for a minute. Gareth shakes his head as if to clear it. At some point, Theo’s disappeared, and then Gareth feels his hand being tugged from behind and – of course it’s Theo, hand warm and soft, pulling him, stumbling just a little, mumbling things about leaving the car and taking the bus home and Fernando and free drinks and other things Gareth misses.

Theo waltzes onto the bus and sits in the back, although miraculously no one is on board. “You’re a _Premier League_ footballer now, Gareth, this is what we do, we get drunk and we leave our cars because we can’t _drive drunk_ – ” he is scolding Gareth with a finger now as if the Welshman had made that suggestion – “can’t get a scratch on our precious bodies, no – someone will _get the car_ —”

“You’ll get the car,” laughs Gareth.

“Probably I’ll get the car,” Theo agrees sagely. “But the point! The point is: you have to adhere to the lifestyle now.”

“Yeah?” Gareth’s amused. Theo is fucking _cute_.

“Yeah, course! The _Premier League_ lifestyle.” He keeps emphasizing the league like he’s been there for decades and Gareth is a rookie (which he’s not, it’s his second season), and it’s tickling Gareth.

“Does the _Premier League_ lifestyle involve fucking most things that move?” Gareth quips, and as soon as he says it he regrets it. He didn’t mean to be cruel, but he’s spent half the night imagining Theo sweating and writhing in other (other? As if Theo was his, as if Gareth was owed Theo) men’s sheets, Theo walk of shame-ing, Theo sneaking out before breakfast, worse, Theo being _made_ breakfast by some big, bulky blond guy that could snap Gareth in half. Thoughts like that.

But Theo is laughing. “More than you know, young grasshopper,” he warbles as the bus slows to a stop. “Ooh! This is us.” Fast as he always is, he hops off the bus, leaving Gareth to scramble in his wake. Realizing how drunk he is. Tripping over Theo’s last words.

He has to chase Theo to his front door, catch it before it slams. Theo is already taking off his shoes, socks, jacket, and – he turns around with a cheeky smile, knowing he’s caught Gareth watching. “Take off your jacket, Gaz,” he says, and Gareth can hear that it’s not a request. He slips it off just in time for Theo to be upon him, and he catches his hips as Theo pushes him against the door. It’s clumsy, but neither of them care, they are too busy kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Theo has a hand tight in Gareth’s hair and is just letting the Welshman touch him, and feeling his body through his clothes is thrill enough, those tight muscles, small and compact, strong. Theo grins into the kiss as Gareth caresses his side, strokes his abs, _finally_ grips his ass tight, and Theo moans. “You fucking _tease_ ,” Theo gasps, and Gareth turns them around so Theo is against the wall. “Wait,” mutters Theo, and takes off his shirt. Gareth tries to kiss him again, but Theo pushes him back, just on the side of too hard. Gareth grunts and he feels his head clear just slightly.

“Gareth,” Theo says. He never calls him that. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“Wh—”

“ _Gareth_.” Theo holds Gareth’s cheek in his hand, taps his lip forcefully. “Do _you_ want to _fuck_ me?”

Gareth nods slowly, and then with more purpose. Theo just watches him. “D-do you want me to?” He’s breathless.

Theo smiles and pushes a finger inside Gareth’s mouth. Then another. Gareth’s eyes glaze over and he looks like he wants to bend Theo over the nearest convenient object. “Yeah, I do.”

 

 

 

**2009.**

Gareth doesn’t know what they’re doing. It’s been months. He’s been going over to Theo’s, hanging out, playing FIFA, pretending that he’s only there to lose to Theo, again and again, he never gets any better.

Theo’s leaning against the head of the couch, sweatpanted thighs across Gareth’s lap, a red lollipop in his mouth and a hand and a half on the Xbox controller. He scores again in the 93rd minute to beat Gareth’s Arsenal 8-1.

“Fuck!” Gareth cries, throwing the controller onto the couch. It’s just the loudest of a long string of swear words he’d been muttering under his breath.

“Sorry, babe,” Theo says, and leans forward to kiss him on the stubble. Gareth freezes. He doesn’t see it, but Theo rolls his eyes, realizing what he’s done. He swings his legs off of Gareth and bites down on the lollipop as he walks toward the kitchen. “Better luck next time!” he calls aggressively over his shoulder. 

Gareth gets up slowly and follows Theo to the kitchen. He’s filling a pot with water, humming tunelessly.

“Theo?” he murmurs as he enters Theo’s bright, windowed kitchen. It’s winter and the floor is cold underneath his bare feet. So much of him never wants to step into the cold, wet London weather ever again, wants to stay here in this kitchen forever. “Theo?” he says louder, to be heard over the running water.

“Hmm?” Theo turns around.

“What are we doing?”

Theo’s smile disappears. He makes a show of turning off the water and putting the pot onto the stove.

“I don’t know, _Gaz_ ,” he says pointedly. “What _are_ we doing?”

“I mean, I thought you had this – this casual attitude about sex, and now we’re hanging out all the time, fucking and kissing and keeping it a secret, no one can ever come over, what are we…” Gareth hesitates, he’s not saying this right. “I mean, who was the last person you – besides me. Who?”

Theo doesn’t meet his eyes. “You sure you want the answer to that, mate?”

 _Fuck_. So that’s how it is. It hurts more than he could have imagined. Images of Theo being fucked, taking some other bloke’s cock, flood his brain. Of him kissing the inside of some beautiful blonde woman’s thighs, of sinking his dick into her till she groans.

“What? We never talked about us. We never talk. About anything!”

“How many?”  
  
“What? Gareth…”

“Who?” Gareth cries. “How many? How many are you seeing? All at once? Who? Do I know him?” The words leave Gareth’s lips without him even thinking straight. They don’t even make total sense.

“Oh, spare me. You’ve no right to expect me to only see you, you hide from me all the time—”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t have the right to ask _anything_ from me!” Something inside Theo’s been uncorked now, he’s speaking with such anger, such pain. Worse, something deep inside Gareth knows that he’s right. “I never _know_ what I’m going to get from you, a text here, a call there, a late night proposition, mate, I’ve done it all! I didn’t mind! Because I like you. I like making you happy. I’ll make you happy if I can. When I can. And it’s fun,” Theo says, in a smaller voice. “It’s fun. But if you’re going to try to make me feel _bad_ about seeing other people, people who aren’t _embarrassed_ to be seen with me in public, people who won’t ignore me for two days after I kiss them on the cheek because apparently I overstepped some fucking boundary I don’t understand and wasn’t told about—fuck that. I don’t deserve that!” Theo is moving toward Gareth now, smaller but assured, and Gareth is retreating. Gareth feels his back hit the wall and steps forward, only slightly, defensively. “I don’t deserve it and I’m tired of it. If you want something more,” he says, and his voice gets lower, more jagged: “you have to tell me.”

Gareth is staring at the floor, cold shame creeping up his body. His hands clasped in front of him feel extraneous, he doesn’t know what to do with them. Again he wants to hide from Theo’s all-too-knowing stare.

“I have to go,” he says, and somehow he manages to keep his voice level. He tears out of the house. Theo is calling after him, but he’s in his car, driving away before he can hear a word. One hand held tight against his mouth muffles the shaking sobs.

 

 

 

Gareth has surgery that summer, after the season ends, knee surgery he’d been putting off. He’s not heard a word from Theo since he ran out of his house.

After the operation, the apartment feels lonelier than ever. Summer means everyone’s outside, enjoying the few warm rays of the year. The city is loud and bustling. Cries of laughter taunt him from the well-worn spot on his La-Z-Boy. Everyone having fun but me. A few of the Tottenham lads have gone to Barcelona on holiday, and they were fittingly polite when Gareth told them he couldn’t go, no, he was having surgery.

“We nearly forgot, mate,” said Aaron Lennon, who’s become a friend. “You still outrun me in training,” he says, shining his cheeky grin, and Gareth tries to forget how much he reminds him of another quick biracial midfielder.

It’s true, Gareth has been training, playing, even, couldn’t afford to declare himself _injured_. Vulnerable, fallible, breakable – useless. When he didn’t even have a starting place in the squad. When Redknapp seemed to reserve this particular dismissive look just for Gareth, burned permanently into his retinas. But putting off the surgery means a longer recovery time.

Hopped up on pain meds, he texts Theo against his better judgment.

_I miss you_

The response is surprisingly quick, but Gareth seems to remember that’s Theo’s habit.

_Are you drunk?_

_It’s 2:30pm_

_So?_

_So no._

Theo doesn’t respond for slightly longer, and Gareth gets bored, so he types:

_Think I’m high on pain meds tho. Haha_

He can practically hear Theo grin. But, to his surprise, Theo says:

_What did you do?_

_Had knee surgery today. Wasn’t so bad_

_Jesus. Did you get a ride home and everything? How are you feeling?_

_Yeah. Fine! Good. Just think I’ll be bored for a while_

_I feel for you mate._

_Hey, I’m sorry about how I treated you. I didn’t realize you felt that way. Or that you took me that_ _seriously._

And then again:

_I fucked up. I was a dickhead. But I miss your friendship. Can you forgive me?_

Theo doesn’t respond for over two hours. Gareth falls asleep with the Xbox controller in his hand and only the sound of his phone vibrating wakes him up.

_You were a fucking dickhead. But I am O:) so I forgive you. Do you want me to bring you takeaway?_

Gareth grins and pumps his fist just as his stomach rumbles. He looks at the screen and sees that he’d lost 5-2 to the computer.

 

 

 

“Hey, baby,” Theo croons into the intercom. Gareth buzzes him in and crutches over to the door to unlock it before collapsing on the couch again. Puts his leg up on the coffee table.

“It’s open!” Gareth shouts as soon as he hears the knock.

“Got Chinese,” sings Theo as he shuts the door behind him. “Cor! Look at you. They’ve fixed you up good, haven’t they?”

“What’d you get? Chicken and broccoli?”

“I did, actually,” Theo says. “Figured I couldn’t go wrong.”

“Thank you,” Gareth says, taking the bag just too quickly from Theo.

“Hungry, are ya?”

Gareth is already several bites in. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” he says through the food.

Theo just sighs and stands awkwardly before he says: “Can I grab a beer?”

“Yeah, mate, in the fridge.”

“Cheers.”

And then he’s back, and he plops down on the other side of the long, long couch, sits against the arm, opposite Gareth, just looking at him. Sips the beer and looks.

Gareth looks up guiltily and puts his chopsticks down. “Hey, man,” he says, wiping his mouth. “I’m really sorry.” And maybe it’s the meds, maybe it’s his empty stomach, maybe he’s changed just a little bit. Maybe it’s Theo. But he only slightly hesitates before the words tumble unbidden from some dark, hidden place, some deep recess of his brain that has been stewing since the day he last saw Theo. “I was really stupid. I was an arsehole to you. On top of everything, I shouldn’t have been so fucking – jealous, I was jealous when I had absolutely no right to be, y’know? I…” he trails off. Theo waits. “I was so fucking scared. I know it doesn’t excuse anything but I was fucking terrified. I am. Fucking terrified.”

“I know,” Theo says, so soft Gareth almost doesn’t hear.

“I… I like you so much,” Gareth says, turning his head toward the TV, pretending to be fascinated by the muted car commercial.

To his surprise, he feels a kiss pressed softly against his temple. Theo has crawled over, and he’s looking at Gareth with those puppy dog eyes. “I like you too.” An unsolicited noise escapes Gareth.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. Theo smirks and presses a kiss to his cheek, nuzzles there.

“Missed you too. Shall I nurse you back to health?” he grins, letting his fingertips linger on Gareth’s thigh.

“Please.”

“Okay. After you finish.”

 

 

 

Theo lays him down on the bed and helps him take off his joggers. The brace is bulky, but it’s doing its job, and Theo fusses till Gareth assures him he's fine to just lie there.

“You’re so good to me,” Gareth says, and Theo muffles the rest of his words with a kiss, nipping his lower lip like he likes.

“Can I—” Theo says, and “Yeah, yeah,” Gareth replies, and Theo straddles him nimbly, strong thighs pressed against either side of his pelvis. Gareth smirks and kisses him again, grabs his ass, makes Theo mewl.

“Missed you so – much,” Gareth breathes, kissing Theo’s jawline, his neck. Theo reaches for his cock and finds him half-hard. He coaxes Gareth’s briefs down, not without difficulty, and strokes his dick till he’s hard and panting under Theo.

“Baby,” Gareth is saying, between nips of his neck, “baby, please…”

Something shifts. Theo sits up, cock still in his hand. Looks Gareth in the face. “Are you high?”

“Haha. No.”

“Good,” Theo says. His touch is light, too light, teasing. “What do you want, Gaz?”

“Huh?”

“Tell me. What do you want?”

“I dunno, it’s going to be kind of tricky since I can’t move much—”

“No.” Theo laughs, just slightly on the side of unkind. “What do you want from me? From us?” His hand has almost, almost stilled on Gareth’s cock. Everything in Gareth wants to buck up and force some friction. Better yet, turn Theo over on his bed and give him a taste of his own medicine, fill him with his cock and not let him come, tease him till all he can say is Gareth’s name. His toes twitch under the brace. Not today.

“From us?” Gareth finally manages.

Theo starts to move his hand ever so gently, and puts the other one firm on Gareth’s hip, holding him in place. “I dunno, you like fucking me. You seem to _really_ like fucking me.”

Gareth grunts.

“And you don’t like it,” Theo continues, voice smooth as silk. “When I fuck other men, or, especially get _fucked_ by other men. And… you don’t like it when I fuck women. And you want to keep fucking me, is that right?”

Gareth nods, gritting his teeth.

Theo grins. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, I… I want to keep fucking you, Theo. Please.”

“I thought so. And you like hanging out with me? We hang out all the time. You’ve been a good friend to me.” He’s moving his hand a little faster, but it’s too slow, not enough. He’s never been teased like this. “And you’re not fucking anyone else?”

Gareth shakes his head.

Theo smirks. “And you don’t _want_ to be fucking anyone else?”

Gareth moans. “No, Theo.”

Theo runs his thumb over the head of Gareth’s dick and he convulses, his cock leaking profusely now.

“So? Is there something you want to ask me?”

“Hmm?’

Theo rolls his eyes like Gareth is a rookie who’s mistimed his pass. “Gareth,” he says sternly. “All you have to do is tell me how you feel about me. Tell me the truth,” he says, jerking hard on Gareth’s cock in an odd mix of pain and pleasure. “And we can go from there.”

“Theo Theo Theo,” Gareth’s eyes are closed, his head is swimming. Theo’s hand is so warm and tight and now it’s wet with his precome, he’s making such a mess and Gareth’s cock has only known his right hand for months now, the sensation is pooling at the pit of his stomach.

“Gareth,” Theo says, and for the first time since the living room he sounds fond. “I believe in you.”

“Theo,” he whispers, like a prayer.

“You can do it.”

“I…” he says, and Theo must sense that he’s about to come, because he takes his hand off before Gareth can even process it and he cries out from the loss of contact. He pants and moans, but doesn’t push his hips against Theo, who is still clothed, still straddling him.

“Theo,” he says. “I want you. Only you, and. I want you to want me? Like as in I don’t see other people, you don’t see other people, but we’re private. About it? I don’t think I’m ready to tell the world yet, Redknapp doesn’t even believe in me yet, you know? I mean he will, I’ll fucking show them, but…” He’s breathless, panting. He’s doing the best he can. Theo is smiling. “What’s that smile for? Fuck you.”

Theo laughs, throws his head back and everything. “That’s called dating, man.”

“So?”

“Aw, Gaz. I want to date you too,” Theo says, and Gareth feels a flood of relief. Theo leans in to kiss Gareth on the lips. When he pulls off, Gareth hits him on the side of the head. “Ow!”

“You deserve that.”

“I might do,” Theo says, but he’s grinning again and holding Gareth’s cock again so so tight. “You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck, Theo.”

And now he’s merciless, pumping Gareth’s cock hard and fast, but he won't take long. “You gonna come for me?” Theo cries as Gareth unloads all over his hand. He keeps it there as Gareth rides out the orgasm, watches him come, holds his brace down so he doesn’t hurt his knee. When it’s over, he cleans up with some tissue and then lies next to Gareth, face down on the enormous bed, one arm draped over Gareth’s stomach.

“So, we’re dating?” says Gareth.

Theo looks up and giggles. “Yeah, Gaz,” he says, kissing him. “We’re dating. If that’s what you want.”

“I do,” says Gareth, and they both laugh giddily. Theo puts his head back down and they’re quiet for so long Gareth wonders if Theo’s fallen asleep.

But then he turns his head to the side and says softly in Gareth’s ear, “We’ll keep it as private as you like.”

Gareth grunts. “Very private, then.”

“Completely private,” Theo laughs.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I am going to make up a girlfriend, though,” Theo says.

“Hmm?”

“Can’t have the lads thinking I’m not getting any.”

“True. Your friends are nosy.”

“They really are,” Theo laughs, and Gareth can hear the sleep in his voice, the faintest tinge of relief.

“Can I make you come?”

“No, babe,” says Theo, his voice giving way to sleep. “I’m falling asleep. Just get better fast so you can fuck me on your kitchen table.”

Gareth’s spent cock twitches. He groans. “You’re getting punished for teasing me like that, you know." 

“Mmm. Please.”


End file.
